


A New Perspective

by Cyane (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, John is a Saint, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Prompt Fill, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Short & Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:29:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7983484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cyane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock keeps talking to John, even when he isn't there. </p><p>"Oh, are you talking to <em>me</em> now?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Perspective

At first John didn't notice it at all.

Well- that wasn't quite true.

John knew Sherlock talked to himself, he used to talk to a skull. Sometimes he argued with Mycroft when his brother was halfway across England. And he had been told on multiple occasions that Sherlock talked to him, when he wasn't around. It wasn't incredibly strange, especially for someone as quirky as Sherlock...

But John hadn't nearly realized the extent of it all.

Mrs. Hudson sometimes complained about the noise he made, even when Sherlock was supposedly alone, the chattering, the talking, the shouting that happened. John had laughed it off. "It's Sherlock. This isn't nearly odd." 

Until it started happening even when people were inside the flat. That's when things started to get- well, curious.

It first happened when Mycroft had come over. He had Mrs. Hudson had a rocky relationship, although it was closer than John first believed. They had a common interest of keeping Sherlock safe and well taken care of, so they stood in unity for the most part. 

"I really don't know why you bother," He sniffed. Mrs. Hudson continued pouring the tea for the four of them. Mycroft and John sat in the main room, while Mrs. Hudson made tea in the kitchen and Sherlock stood on the couch nearby, staring intently at the mapping of papers and post-it notes on the wall.

"It's _important,_ Mycroft. Even your brother knows that," Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. "And deep down, you know it as well. Isn't that right, boys?"

Sherlock completely ignored the conversation, and John just stuttered out a, "Er... y-yes, right." 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and tapped his umbrella on the floor. _"He doesn't even know he's doing it,"_ Sherlock's voice rang in the back of John's mind. Apparently there were lots of things the Holmes' brothers did that they weren't aware of.

"Wrong." 

The three of them turned to Sherlock, still standing on the couch in his black tie less suit, his back to them. John craned his head around in concern.

"No- you idiot, look at the _earrings_ , don't you see the dents?"

By this point it was clear Sherlock wasn't rebutting against Mrs. Hudson, luckily, and John let out a breath. But the eldest Holmes' brother continued to stare down his little brother, eyes twinkling in worried amusement. Pressure point.

"Alright- then if not, the blood type. No! She... of course not. How could they have transferred it, now _that_ , _that_ is a question I have, Mycroft."

John looked to Mycroft in confusion, but he looked just as lost. 

The consulting detective was still inches away from the wall, waving his hands around animatedly. There was silence. John vacantly wondered if Sherlock actually _could_ hear a response. 

"...Obviously. No. No, it's obvious, you blathering idiot- oh, oh _yes_ , so extremely obvious. The feet, the earrings, the blood type... oh! The _Aunt_!" 

And with a hop, Sherlock was off the couch and rushing around the kitchen, scrambling for different materials, jars, and possibly body parts. The three spectators watched him rush around in excitement before running out the door.

"Well," John began. "That was-"

"To be expected, Dr. Watson." Mycroft finished, smiling dryly. 

Mrs. Hudson realized that the situation had passed and hurriedly got back to the tea. John frowned but didn't ask further on the matter, while Mycroft had seemingly become very interested on the hilt of his umbrella.

Nobody mentioned anything after that.

But time after time again, John started realizing it was happening more and more often. And it was alarming, really; he paused for the other person to 'speak', responded to their imaginary questions... it shouldn't be surprising, as Mycroft had insisted, because that was the typical Sherlock.

It was unnerving. 

It got even worse when it happened to John. Because it was getting hard to distinguish which 'John' Sherlock was talking to.

"John."

"Yes?"

"No, that can't be right!"

The doctor jumped at the shout and looked up at his friend, whose eyes were fixed on the microscope in front of him. "What? What can't be right, Sherlock?"

"No, no, you've got it all wrong. The tint of his skin, the dots on his wrist. Idiot."

John looked to his friend in complete confusion as he rambled on, not even stopping when John responded. 

"Sherlock, mate, you're doing it-"

"Unhealthy tint, really. He should've gotten that spit out, yes."

" _Sherlock_."

"Finally you show your knowledge, John. But you're missing the point about his wrist. The spray, is it lightly covered, speckles? Or is it in clumps?" 

John turned back to the newspaper in hand, feeling slightly offended. Did Sherlock really think about him all the time like that...? Was he really just a schoolboy learning things from a higher up? He knew that Sherlock had to admire him somewhat, or find him interesting, god knows why, for some reason, because he still kept him around. 

He shut out the yapping behind him until a sentence caught his attention.

"Why... I didn't even think of that..."

It was so unlike his friend to say something like that, so he turned once again to look at Sherlock. Sherlock, who was looking up from the microscope, his expression surprised and pleased.

"...Don't be daft, John- of course I meant it. You provide another perspective. Thank you."

Interesting. John bit back the growing smile on his face. Coming from Sherlock, a compliment and a thank you were both immensely rare. (Well, John seemed to be on the receiving end of a lot of them but that was different.)

"...Smarter than me on some levels, even..."

John blinked in surprise. 

"Sherlock?"

Instead Sherlock jumped from the chair. "But you're right- the gardens. We've got to get there before nightfall. Come on, John-" He leaped up and out the door. John still felt too shocked to see what all the fuss was about, however, so he stayed put until Sherlock's head poked around from the door frame impatiently. 

"John. _John_. Hurry up."

"Oh, are you talking to _me_ now?" He asked in amusement. 

Sherlock's hiss through his teeth was audible. "I've been talking to you the whole time-- now if you could hurry up!" 

His head disappeared once again and John got to his feet to follow. Insane or not, Sherlock had a good heart and that's what mattered most. Even if he had imaginary conversations with real people in the same room as him. Mental, really. 

What did it matter.

John kept him sane enough.


End file.
